Hordesmen: The Wisdom of Dragons #4

by Vickie Knestaut

  “You still alive in there?” Ander shouted.

  Tyber’s eyes snapped open. His breath condensed into a cloud before him.

  “Present,” Ren groaned beside Tyber. He stirred, then lay still.

  “Then on your feet, recruits! Now!”

  Ren grumbled into his bedroll, his blanket wrapped around his head. “Why did I sign up for this?”

  “The silver,” Tyber said, then sat up. His covers fell away from him and the cold bit into his chest and arms with vengeance.

  “They can have it all back,” Ren said. “Just let me sleep until Spring.”

  Tyber slithered out from his bundle of blankets and slipped on his boots, not caring if he jostled Ren in the process.

  “You still alive in there?” Ander called again, his voice farther away. “Up and on your feet, recruits! There’s work to do.”

  “I’ll kill you if you open that flap,” Ren mumbled. “Mark my words that I will.”

  Tyber wondered briefly if Rius dreamed. If any of the dragons dreamed. They never flinched and stirred like sleeping dogs. When dragons slept, they were perfectly still except for the gentle rise and fall of their chests.

  He crouched before the tent flap. His fingers, still nimble with the warmth of his bedroll, made short work of the ties. He plunged out into the day and grimaced at the brightness. Snow blanketed the hastily made camp. Olsid knelt in the center, clearing away snow and grass. He tossed the golden stalks aside, clumps of black dirt clinging to their roots. The tents themselves remained free of snow, likely due to the wind. And the grass beyond their trampled camp stood upright as well, having shaken off the snow.

  Tyber turned around and found Rius staring at him from the knot of dragon flesh behind the tents. The dragons had moved through the night, wandering back into the grass somewhat. But otherwise, they seemed settled, calm.

  “How is Dragoneer Chanson?” Tyber asked Olsid.

  Ander cleared his throat at another tent. “Alive in there? Come on, recruits! Face the day.”

  Olsid looked over his shoulder, then turned back to his work.

  Tyber knelt opposite the proctor. He began to help clear a fire pit.

  “The bond still holds,” Olsid said quietly as he worked. His breath curled back into his face before dissipating. A bit of frost had gathered in his light mustache. “I will check on him after the fire is built.”

  “I’ll take over,” Tyber said. “If you want.”

  “Thanks,” Olsid said, then sat back on his heels. “But I’m in no hurry. Don’t count on this until we get word from the caravanner, but I bet we stay put for the day.”

  The proctor looked toward the caravan. Plumes of smoke rose from the encampment, then bent back away on a breeze that didn’t quite reach the ground.

  “Why?” Tyber asked.

  Olsid leaned to his side and stuck his gloved fingers in a patch of undisturbed snow until most of his hand disappeared.

  “Snow’s too deep. It will be hard going today. Hard on the cattle and livestock. Especially on the draft horses and anyone who has to walk.”

  He nodded to the clear, blue sky above. “A day of sun will make a big difference. It would be more advantageous to stay put a day, let the sun clear our path. But Hewart might decide to press on regardless. He’s in a hurry to get deeper into the kingdom, closer to the mother city where there are fewer dangers.”

  Tyber nodded as he tossed aside a fistful of grass. The scent of soil blossomed around him, amplified in the chill of the morning.

  “I’ll go see him and suggest we stay put,” Olsid said.

  “We could use a day of rest,” Tyber said with a nod, then added, “the dragons, I mean.”

  Olsid grinned, a smile that reached deep into his eyes. “No such luck, recruit. There is no rest for the weary. The dragons need to work some to stay warm, and we still have to mind the skies. I also think some drills are warranted. I’ll finish here. See to Rius, then bring her over here to light the fire.”

  By the time the sun fully breached the horizon, the camp bustled with activity. Olsid returned with news that Chanson had made it through the night, and Hewart had agreed to let the caravan sit a day.

  Two riders were ordered to fly low, lazy circles around the caravan in watches. Tyber and half of the remaining horde flew battle drills and maneuvers in the sky. The rest were given leave, and they wasted no time in bustling off to the caravan for a chance to find a place to get warm.

  By the time Ander ordered them out of the sky, Tyber couldn’t feel his cheeks, and his hands were so stiff that he could only straighten his fingers by pressing them against his chest or thighs.

  With great care, he slowly undid his restraints and climbed out of the saddle to stand in the snow. His legs burned and his feet prickled with a mad, tingling itch that he wouldn’t dare scratch if he could. It would require him to take off his boots, and he wasn’t about to do that.

  Rius looked at him with the same, calm look she always wore. If the cold bothered her, she didn’t show it. But the other dragons, the ones that had yet to take the sky, were still huddled in the grass, curled together on the ground. A couple of them had draped their wings over the others, tilting them so that the sunlight fell full upon their striking colors.

  “Where is Fang?” Olsid called.

  Tyber shoved his hands under his armpits and turned about, looking at the other recruits.

  “Fang!” Olsid shouted.

  “I didn’t see him come back,” one of Olsid’s recruits volunteered.

  Olsid checked the sun, then looked back to the caravan and shook his head. He turned to Tyber and the others.

  “Go find Fang. Send him back here immediately.”

  He swept his arm out at the dragons still on the ground. “The rest of you, saddle your mounts and take them up. Cannan, Ivis, you two will relieve Weiss and Quall and take the watch until relieved.”

  The other recruits started for their dragons.

  “The rest of you are on leave until dusk. After you find Fang and send him back here. Tell him to report to Ander.”

  “Yes, Proctor,” Tyber and the others said. After taking care of their dragons, they tracked through the path of trampled grass and snow cut between the camp and the caravan.

  “What do you think happened to Fang?” Tyber asked Ren as they approached Hewart’s wagon.

  Ren snorted, then drew in a shuddering breath as he ran his hands up and down his arms. “I’ll bet you my next bag of silver that he found some place to keep warm.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Lambert asked over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, well, knowing Fang, he found the wagon that held the most pretty girls.”

  “Fang?” Tyber asked, but then he recalled running into him by the river. He’d had two women with him at that time.

  “You saw him in the market. He’s a ladies’ man. They can’t get enough of him.”

  Lambert shook his head. “He’s so quiet. And not particularly good looking.”

  “We’re all good looking in these,” Ren said, gesturing at his clothes. “Royal hordesmen. Women love dragons, man. And horses. And dragons are like both.”

  “Wait,” Tyber said. “Dragons are like dragons and horses?”

  “With wings,” Ren said.

  “And scales,” Lambert said.

  “And firebreath,” Rogerius added from behind.

  “There you have it,” Ren said with a solid nod. “Old Master Gravy himself couldn’t give a better lecture.”

  “Gravy?” Tyber chuckled.

  “Still,” Lambert said, “there has got to be some kind of magic at work. Fang’s just so… Fang.”

  “Why do we call him Fang, anyway?” Rogerius asked.

  Ren held up his palms and shook his head. “Don’t ask me. It’s his story to tell.”

  “Think he tells the girls?” Lambert asked.

  “Count on it,” Ren said.

  “Then let’s ask the girls,” Rogerius suggested.


  Tyber cupped his palms around his mouth and shouted, “Fang!”

  “Fang!” several others echoed.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Ren sang.

  As they approached the rear third of the caravan, a wagon ahead of them rocked with the sudden discharge of weight. Fang appeared around the corner, his hood down and cloak open.

  “Fang!” Ren shouted. “For all the sky, man, where have you been! Olsid’s ready to make a saddle of your hide.”

  Fang blushed and looked out toward the camp.

  A young woman emerged from around the corner of the wagon. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders. She wore a heavy wool dress, but no cloak or sweater or anything to hold against the chill of the day.

  “Fang?” she asked.

  He turned back to her. “Sorry. I have to go.”

  She took his hand, clutching it between her own. Her expression melted into one of disappointment. “Must you?”

  “I must,” Fang said with a nod.

  “Yeah,” Ren said. “There is a horde of dragonjacks that he must fight off by himself.”

  The woman either didn’t hear Ren or she chose to ignore him. Instead, she leaned in, kissed Fang lightly on the cheek, and her face lingered near his ear, out of sight.

  Fang nodded, then grasped her hands with both of his as she stood straight.

  “Count on it,” he said. “Now get back inside before the frost bites you.” Fang nipped at the air next to the young woman’s ear.

  She smiled and blushed, then ducked behind the rear of the wagon.

  Tyber shook his head as Fang watched the girl for a moment more, then turned and approached them, his back straight, his steps assured.

  Ren whistled low. “You dog!”

  Fang grinned. His cheeks reddened again.

  A shadow crossed over them. Tyber craned his neck back. Loymoss soared past, making her way back to the camp.

  “Hey,” Lambert said. “Who’s keeping her warm while you’re in the air?”

  “It’s not like that,” Fang said with a shake of his head. He fell in with the guys as they all turned to walk back to camp. “We were just talking.”

  “Ri-iiight,” Rogerius said, rolling his eyes.

  “That’s it. I swear.”

  “What’s your secret, man?” Lambert asked as he stepped up beside Fang. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “The girls. You have them eating out of your palm. No matter where we go, it’s like you have some sort of magic you use on them.”

  Fang shook his head. “There’s no magic.”

  “Then what is it?” Lambert pressed.

  “I listen to them.”

  “What?” Rogerius asked.

  Fang nodded. His ears began to redden in the cold, but he still didn’t put his hood up.

  “That’s it?” Lambert pressed. “You just listen to them?”

  Fang nodded. “That’s it.”

  “But what do you say when you go up to them?” Lambert asked. “Hi, they call me Fang, and I’d like to listen to you.”

  Ren barked with laughter.

  Fang grinned broadly, then shook his head. “No, I just think of something. It depends on the situation. I mean, back there, I saw Masia gathering snow into a kettle. I just walked over and asked if she liked the snow. And then one thing led to another. And then she offered me some tea, and then we were just talking.”

  “Well?” Rogerius asked. “Does she like the snow?”

  Fang looked over his shoulder at the other recruit. “Yes, but not while they’re between stops. She feels stranded today. Especially with the dragonjacks around.”

  “You’re so full of it,” Ren said with a shake of his head. “Listening to girls?”

  Fang shrugged. “It’s the truth. Women just want to be heard. Everyone wants to be heard. But women are so often treated like… Well, like what they have to say doesn’t matter because they’re women. And so if you take time to actually listen to them, then they’ll treat you good. But you can’t fake it. You have to really listen.”

  Lambert snorted. “Well, I guess I always have my dragon.”

  “Good thing Mytalth doesn’t talk,” Ren needled. “You’d be in a pickle then.”

  Tyber looked off toward the camp. Loymoss and Firvoss had landed. Weiss and Quall picked their way along the path.

  Everyone wanted to be heard, yet he’d shoved off Quall’s attempt to talk to him. Why was it easier to sneak back to the rear of the caravan and cut loose a thief than to listen to Quall?

  Tyber’s back straightened. Quall was obsessed with the belief that at least one of them would die on this assignment. And to hear whatever secret Quall wished to pass along to him seemed like validation, like agreeing with Quall’s prediction. It felt like a burden. If Quall died, then that secret would become an anvil. A weight Tyber didn’t want.

  He shook his head slightly, then looked off to the southwest.

  The skies and horizon remained clear.

  For now.

  Chapter 20

  The remaining snow on the road highlighted the approaching men on horseback. Five of them rode in single file, moving at a steady trot. The caravan showed no signs of slowing or moving to one side. If the riders wished to pass, they’d have to veer into the grass.

  Signals flew from one dragon to the next. Hold formation.

  Tyber repeated the signal, then watched as Listico swooped toward the riders on steady wings.

  Tyber rubbed his gloved thumbs over the leather of the saddle’s lip. Chanson had said that sometimes dragonjacks sent riders on horseback to assess caravans and their defenses.

  Listico landed halfway between the approaching horses and the head of the caravan, sweeping her wings out before folding them neatly behind her back. The horses fidgeted, tossing their heads. The riders worked the reins to keep the animals from leaving the road or bolting.

  Tyber bit down on the fingertips of his glove, then slipped his hand free. He grabbed the glove, then repeated the motion with the other hand before shoving the gloves into the saddlebag. It was already one of the warmer days they’d felt in a while, and the snow was melting fast as a result. His hands were too warm in the shearling-lined gloves, but they were quickly too cold outside of them.

  The riders halted about twenty yards in front of Ander. Tyber leaned forward, cocking his ear as if he might hear the conversation below, but they were too far away. Rius had only covered half the distance of the caravan since swinging around the backside.

  Olsid and Merilyss swept by on the other side, heading toward the rear with Wende in tow. The proctor was turned in his saddle, peering back toward the head of the caravan. Behind Wende flew Herminion atop Hirsoar, followed by Quall and Loymoss.

  Quall had avoided Tyber all of yesterday. Tyber had even tried to approach him and apologize for his behavior, but every time he did, Quall suddenly found—

  Crack.

  The sound of a crossbow releasing whipped Tyber’s attention back to the head of the caravan. Listico reared up, wings spread wide as the riders sent their horses fleeing from the road, charging into the grass to swerve around the dragon in their path.

  Listico darted her head at the nearest horse. A gout of firebreath washed over the horse’s flank. It’s back-end swung out as if shoved, and then the horse went down, its smoldering flank collapsing into the grass and dragging the rest of the horse and its rider down with it.

  As Listico dropped back to all fours, she stumbled, then pulled her left foreleg off the ground as if it were injured.

  By the eyes of the gods, the riders had hit her. They had a crossbow and they shot Listico.

  Tyber wrenched the lip of the saddle, then shoved down as he kicked his heel into Rius’ left shoulder. She dropped out of formation, banking and diving toward the remaining horses as they cleared Listico and raced alongside the road, heading straight for a herd of cattle. One of the attackers flung aside a blanket th
at had covered the horse’s side. He slipped a crossbow from a harness like the ones the mercenaries used. He twisted back in his saddle, taking aim at Ander.

  Listico reared and spread her wings. Ander clutched the lip of the saddle with his right hand. His left clutched his bow.

  “Faster!” Tyber shouted, wrapping his arms around Rius’ neck.

  The crossbow cracked.

  Listico pushed off into the air, her wings carrying her up. A growl escaped her as she turned back to the attackers. Ander caught sight of Tyber and began to signal wildly. Up. Up. Up.

  More crossbows cracked.

  Tyber’s eyes widened with sudden realization as he wrenched his neck back to the caravan. Mercenaries stood atop the wagons. Others advanced on horses belonging to the caravan, racing forward to intercept the attackers. They wielded bows and took aim at the same riders Rius chased.

  “Up!” Tyber screamed. He yanked hard on the saddle and kicked his right heel into Rius’ shoulder. She swept to the left as more crossbows cracked.

  He gritted his teeth, held his breath and waited for the jolt that would tell him Rius had been hit. For all the sky! What had he been thinking? Be part of the solution. Not the problem.

  Rius banked away from the attackers and began to climb, trading her momentum for altitude.

  Above, the horde was falling into formation behind Olsid, preparing to sweep the attacking riders and their horses. Only three remained now, and they had broken off their attack and raced for the northwest. The mercenaries had already called off their pursuit and were content to sit upon their mounts and stare after the intruders.

  Listico rose to join the formation. Her wings weren’t right. If a dragon could stagger in the air, then Listico managed it. Her flight had a slight waver to it after every beat of her wing.

  Ander signaled for Tyber to fall in with the horde. Now.

  Tyber banked Rius, directing her back to the horde. As she came around, facing the rear of the caravan, Olsid ordered a dive. In an intimidating V formation, the horde swept down on the fleeing attackers. Bows and arrows were drawn. The dragons closed in. Olsid loosed his arrow, then sent Merilyss peeling upward, letting momentum push the air into her wings and lift them. The riders that flanked him loosed their arrows and repeated the maneuver. On it went, over in seconds, and the fleeing attackers hadn’t stood a chance. Two of the horses were gone. Swallowed up by the grass. The third raced on, a rider slumped over the pommel of his saddle, two arrows protruding from his back. Another arrow stuck out of the horse’s hindquarters. It wouldn’t make it far.